About friendship
by Inuvik
Summary: WD's Zorro. Third and last part of Don Diego's adventures in Spain.


"_Juan! This is Bernardo. He cannot speak nor hear, but he would die for me if necessary!"_

_Ep.1 x01_

_Some words are more than words._

_About friendship_

* * *

_**Madrid, Spain**_

_**July 26th, 1819**_

The majestic willow trees growing all along the sinuous pond of el Retiro's park offered in this end of afternoon a fresh and peaceful harbor.

Under the shadow of a secular specimen, his back leaning against its smooth and cracked trunk, Diego was staring, brow furrowed and jaw clenched, at a passerby throwing bread to a few ducks and cobs. Not that the flurry of wings and quacking disturbed him. He did not notice the picturesque scene anymore than he smelled the sweet fragrance rising from the shrubs of roses nearby.

The young don was impervious to all his senses, save for one. The touch. And the cause of the grave expression on his face was lying in his hands.

He had received a letter this morning. A letter from his father. A letter that troubled him so much that his eyes, occupied to read it again and again, had not seen where his steps had taken him. But now he was glad to be away from the constant agitation that prevailed on the Royal Academy's ground. The quietness of the park offered him a secluded spot to deal with the emotions his father's words had caused, and especially this one phrase in particular.

_My dear son, _

_It is with a heavy heart that I ask you to give up your studies..._

Even under the threat of a weapon, his father would never pronounce such sentence, much less write it; his quill would have broken under the stress in his arm before the _g _in give up was finished.

To give up his studies and take the first boat back to California, for he was struggling with difficulties that he could not face alone.

What kind of difficulties could bend his father to ask for help?

Why had he not given any explanations?

What could require a father needing his son at his side to face?

Not to be alone...

Diego's glance fell on the date his father had written the letter. Almost eight months had passed since. At best, it would take him another six to reach his clime of birth. If this was serious... Could his father be already?... The young don closed his eyes, and took a deep breath to control a sudden sorrow.

No. His father had written "difficulties", not "fate". There were other explanations for this demand.

Maybe a severe drought had killed most of the cattle, and the old don was now heavily in debt to keep the hacienda running. His pride would certainly have forbidden him to admit he could not pay for his studies anymore.

Diego felt his jaw clenching. He hoped it was just that.

While a warm breeze bent the rushes, he read again his father's words, checking for any signs of shaking in the writing, any clues about the old don's humor as he sat down at his desk to compose this letter. And indeed there were. Though fluid, he noticed some thick curves in the letters; the quill had been applied with a certain tension. At least, it showed that there had been no weakness in the old don's wrist.

Feeling slightly relieved, the young don took a deep breath, put the letter in the inner pocket of his vest, and stood up. He had to face whatever was happening in Los Angeles. Diligencias left for Barcelona everyday. The only uncertainty was when a ship would leave for Mexico or California. He could easily be stranded there for a month before embarking.

At a good pace, Diego walked back toward the Royal Academy, feeling a certain sadness rising at turning the page of his years in Spain. He would miss the good friendship of Marcos and Juan. Never had a fencing team been more awarded than theirs. The young don chuckled. He would miss the skirmishes with the rival military school even more.

His next thought caused his smile to vanish.

Thanks to Marcos' uncle's relations, Bernardo had identity papers now and could travel with him, but the mute might not want to leave his country. Even if had no family left, having fled Zaragoza when Napoleon's army had ravaged the country eleven years ago, he was a Spaniard by heart.

His shoulders slightly sunk under the weight of his father's problems and the sadness of the loss of his friends, Diego strode across the Plaza Mayor and headed up toward a long avenue bordered by mature trees. The mind preoccupied, he barely noticed the crowd of pedestrians he crossed paths with, until, half an hour later, the clash of swords and cries coming out of opened windows jerked him back to the real world. Realizing he had reached his destination, he headed toward the arms room doors when he heard his name being called.

"Hey, Diego?"

The young don craned his neck on his left and saw de Baños striding across the inner courtyard to join him.

"Hola, Juan."

"You seem lost in your thoughts, mi amigo. I called you twice before you raised your eyes from the ground. Still not found a present to offer to Lolita?"

"What pres... Madre de Dios!"

"Hey! Where are you going?"

"To the Plaza Mayor," Diego replied, rushing away.

* * *

Irritated against himself, the young don retraced his steps in the avenue.

With his father's letter, he had all but forgotten about Lolita's birthday present. And now he had to find a farewell gift as well.

Diego sped up his pace when a hand suddenly grabbed his arm.

"Hola!"

Startled, Diego craned his neck, thinking he was about to see one of his friends but met the eyes of a perfect stranger. Realizing his mistake, the young man apologized and rejoined a joyous group of young people.

As he resumed his course, Diego noticed that there was a feel of effervescence in the street. Nothing surprising by a sunny end of afternoon after all.

Half an hour later, he walked out of the jewelry shop with a box and the slight satisfaction of having accomplished half his mission. He was striding across the plaza, to exit it by its north gate to fulfill the rest of his _duty _when he was heckled. A furtive glance revealed that it was the same young man than earlier in the street. With a sigh of irritation, the young don chose to ignore him, and passed his way. Behind him, a passerby let out an outraged remark upon being shouted at too.

While a growing argument reverberated, Diego hurried himself. Marcos had gone more than once in a shop on Calle de Alcalá to buy porcelain dolls. It would make a nice farewell present. If he could be there in time for it was quite far.

The settling sun was coloring the cloudless sky in orange shades when the young don finally made it back to the Academy, a box in each hand. As he reached the main arch, King's army soldiers suddenly blocked his path.

"Your papers, por favor, Señor."

"What is the meaning of this, Corporal?" Diego asked, frowning while he complied.

"Simple security measures," the soldier replied, before granting him passage.

_What security measures?_ The young don wondered, perplexed. This was the first time that he had to identify himself to enter the campus. The first time too that a patrol of six soldiers passed in cadence by the statue of Philip IV on his horse, in the center of the inner courtyard.

Fearing that some agitation had burst in the Academy's corridors, Diego hastened his pace toward the living quarters building. As he penetrated in the hall, the cries of vehement discussions reverberated, all coming from the agora. Though he was anxious to know what was going on, he nonetheless headed toward the marble stairs to put his purchases in his bedroom.

"Diego! Gracias a Dios, you managed to escape this chaos safe and sound!" Marcos exclaimed, stopping him on the bottom steps. By the time he pivoted on his heels, the young don was face to face with his friends.

"Chaos? What chaos?" Diego frowned, troubled to see swords hanging at his friends' hips.

"Do you not know?" Juan frowned.

"Know what?"

"The liberals are fighting against the King's army on the Plaza Mayor."

Diego gasped. "I crossed soldiers in the front entrance."

"They have orders not to let us out," Marcos spit, obviously unhappy of this fate.

The young don sighed.

It was indeed notorious that the young men inside the Royal Academy's walls were all scions of noble families; said families were loyal to the King. If the army let them out of here, the situation in the streets could quickly become out of control.

"Look, let me talk to Bernardo first, mi amigos, and I will come back in a moment to discuss with you of this situation."

The young don frowned, wondering why his words caused his friends to turn pale.

"What?" he asked as they exchanged a tense glance.

"As soon as he learned that there was some serious trouble in the plaza, Bernardo sneaked out to search for you. We were less clever than him and were stopped by a patrol."

Eyes wide with dread, Diego dropped his boxes in Marcos' hands, and pivoted on his heels.

"Where are you going?" Marcos and Juan asked in a single voice.

"Searching for him before he gets killed!"

A few minutes later, the three friends were hiding behind the large pedestal in freestone holding Philip IV and his horse. Tense, they watched the patrol guarding the main entrance, aware that soldiers could spring behind them at any time.

"Marcos, mi amigo?" Juan whispered, his seriousness vanishing, replaced by a smirk, "Were you not talking about getting your revenge for my last affront in the arms room?"

"By all Saints, indeed!" Marcos cried, matching the smile, "Fencing is a serious military art, not a hobby for rich, insolent, debauched young men!"

With an amused glance, Diego saw them drawing their sword and beginning to duel with a lot of heart. The effect was immediate. The four guards pacing below the arch rushed after them, crying _Halt! Halt!_ And thanks to the diversion, the young don sneaked out of the Royal Academy, unnoticed.

Once out, controlling his pace in order not to attract attention on him was hard. While the sounds of battle echoed in the distance, the young don imitated the few passersby he crossed paths with. Keeping his eyes on the ground, he hugged the walls while he came in the maze of small streets heading toward the Plaza Mayor; streets that soon became deserted. Doors and shutters closed. Scared, the Madrileños were shutting themselves in their apartments, wishing for trouble not to reach them.

Diego's jaw clenched tighter. Trouble was just what he was rushing into. As had Bernardo.

Worry grew deeper at this thought and made him hasten his steps.

Bernardo's loyalty since the watch incident was not questioned anymore; his devotion proven in the following weeks of Diego's injury at the team fencing competition. Once fever had left his body and his mind retrieved some cohesion, Marcos had told him that Bernardo would not have shown a deeper worry had he cared for his own child.

Despite the physicians reserved prognosis – had his arm been the one wounded, they would have severed it without hesitation – the mute had not given up on him, sharing his time between caring for him and praying in the chapel.

Little did he know that night that, by removing a beggar from the street, he would gain a guardian angel.

He would not give up on him either.

"Who goes there?"

Guts clenching, the young don suddenly stopped and cast a glance above his shoulder. A shudder ran down his spine. More silhouettes were appearing. Silhouettes that lacked the ardor of the red and blue uniforms of the King's army.

Diego broke in a run.

"A royalist! A royalist!"

A gunshot burst; a warm, whistling wind missed his right ear by a hair's breadth as he veered off course to hide behind a building. While he rushed into a shady, old roman road, cries and rapid steps echoed behind him.

Liberals hot on his heels, Diego rushed into the maze of small streets and alleys surrounding the Plaza Mayor. At the corner of a low, moss-covered wall surrounding a garden, he flattened and risked a glance. Down the street, he saw two men coming fast toward his position.

The young don frowned. Where were the others?

_They deployed in small groups..._

Alarmed, Diego scanned his surroundings, trying to remember the layout of the streets in this district. His heart missed a beat. Whatever street he would take, it would lead his steps toward the opened plaza. In a flash, Diego decided that it was better to affront two men here than twenty later. Tense, he forced himself not to move a toe while the two liberals' steps echoed closer. Their long shadow appeared on the ground. The sun being low on the horizon, he waited for a few seconds more, fists clenched by the thrill to have shifted positions. From prey, he was now hunter.

The fight was short and at his advantage. The two men had not expected to fall into an ambush.

A smirk on his face, Diego straightened up. Favoring his right side, he was retracing his steps to move away from the trap set to catch him, when the sound of distant gunshots stopped him dead in his track.

_Bernardo!_

Going to the plaza was just the reason of his presence here.

The young don looked around him with worry. Cautious, he turned into an alley that would bring him right into the heart of the battlefield. Adrenaline made his heart pump blood faster when an echo coming from the end of the roman road sounded. With the suppleness and discretion of a feline, Diego climbed over the moss-covered wall that ran along the gardens. Just as two men appeared, armed with bludgeons, he hauled himself on the lowest branch of a huge oak tree. Holding his breath, he patiently waited for them to approach. A smirk appeared on his face upon hearing one fulminating, "Where is this bloody royalist?"

"Above you, Señores!" he cried, falling on them with all his weight.

With a laugh, the young don rubbed the earth from his hands and pants, and moved away, letting two collapsed silhouettes on the ground behind him.

This was as fun as the times when he played soldiers and bandidos with the pueblo's other kids. Whatever his role, the other players were never able to escape or catch him. The hunt and seek would last whole afternoons, especially when the other children coerced this good old Sergeant Garcia to help them corner the de la Vega's scion. At last, until a fray or his father would put an end to the joyous corrida.

Eyes darkening at the thought of his father, Diego took a deep breath and focused back on his search for Bernardo.

The closer he came to the plaza, the louder the sounds of fighting rose. Gunshots suddenly burst somewhere on his left. The smell of burning straw was in the air, and from time to time, flames could be seen in the middle of an alley while columns of grey smoke rose above roofs.

At the corner of a street, he witnessed the beginning of a pitched battle. Soldiers dragged and knocked over a cart filled with barrels and boxes to makeshift a barricade to keep a group of liberals from reaching their position.

The young don crossed the street in a quick jump and, hugging the walls, headed quickly toward the next intersection. His jaw clenched upon seeing through the high flames consuming a coach, bodies of the two sides scattered on the ground. The following street was blocked too by barricades and soldiers that held their position by firing from time to time. Diego nodded in satisfaction. The King's army seemed to have the control of the situation.

However, his relief was short. The vision of Bernardo trapped between the two sides filled his soul with dread.

Heart beating wildly in his chest, Diego finally ventured in a lifeless alley when his previous pursuers suddenly fell back on him. Surprised, they all froze, and stared at each others for a few seconds before springing in movement.

Diego moved back fast.

As he turned into another street, soldiers saw him, and ordered him to halt. Promptly, the young don raised his hand above his head upon seeing rifles aiming at him. As he was about to claim his loyalty to Ferdinand VII, a hand grasped his arm and violently dragged him. A second later, gunshots sliced the air where he had stood. While cries sounded, he caught sight of Bernardo. He had not the time to voice his relief that the mute pushed him through a low door. Finding himself suddenly in the dark, Diego missed to notice steps. His right foot skidded and he fell on the ground, though not too hard. As Bernardo shut the door close, the young don, out of reflex, stood up fast.

A radiant and searing pain exploded as his skull felt like it had just split open.

Though he did not exactly lose consciousness, just felt groggy, he did not manage to shake his lethargy away until a small pressure on his scalp caused a sting of pain.

Wincing, he raised a hand to his head while slowly, in the soft, yellow glow of a candle, a fuzzy face came into focus.

"Gracias a Dios, Bernardo..." Diego whispered, straightening to sit up.

As he shifted to make his position more comfortable, his friend removed the pressure on his head, and showed him a slightly bloodstained handkerchief.

Diego frowned.

It took his numb mind a moment before he understood that he had crashed his head on what must be a low ceiling.

"I guess this is where you hid two years ago?" the young don asked with a wince, grateful to have, unlike his friend, a thick layer of hair protecting his skull. The gash was less serious than his headache made fear.

While the sound of gunshots echoed in the street, his mute friend nodded yes, and patted him on the shoulder with a sigh of relief.

Noticing that two weak streaks of light filtered in the cave, Diego was raising to his feet to cast a glance through one of the narrow, ground-level windows, when a slight cough in a dark corner sounded.

Alarmed, he grabbed the candle on the ground, stretched his arm and gasped. There were no less than ten persons in the cave with them.

In front of his trouble, Bernardo mimed the battle raging outside. Diego raised a hand to calm the flurry of movements.

"I'm glad you are safe and sound, mi amigo," Diego said, patting the mute's left arm. A pat that made appear a wince of pain on Bernardo's face.

"What is it? Are you hurt?" the young don inquired, worried.

Bernardo tilted his head before pointing with his finger his left elbow. Diego frowned upon seeing the sorry state of his friend's clothes. He looked like he had been forced to crawl on the ground.

Cries followed by rapid steps in the street made them turn their eyes back on the windows. A cold shudder spread through the dark little cave as legs obstructed the light coming from the left one.

Holding his breath, Diego silently moved to get a better look, but the panes were too dirty to get a clear view on their owner. However, in this level of chaos, even the soldiers might mistake him and Bernardo for enemies. At best they would be arrested; at worse... The young don clenched his fists, ready to intervene.

Thankfully, he did not have to confront any intruder. While darkness fell in the burning barricades, silhouetting the shadows of the fights on the walls, Diego crouched down on the steps to stand watch.

From time to time, the young don was jerked out of his slumber by the cadenced steps of a patrol passing. At other moments, he would straighten suddenly, certain to have heard a cracking or a muffled cry behind the door. And when the silence became total, tiredness lulled him into a deep sleep.

* * *

A hand on his shoulder woke Diego up with a start.

In the faint daylight that filtered in the cave, the young don saw a small child staring at him with curiosity. In the background, light coughs sounded as people began to stir out of sleep.

The young don straightened. Eager to stretch his limbs, he almost stood up before jerking a hand above his head, recalling suddenly the ceiling. With a sigh of relief as much as annoyance, he listened at the sounds coming from the street. Hooves hitting the cobblestones; someone sweeping the ground...

As Bernardo joined his side, Diego cracked opened the door to glance at the street. Appreciating the rush of fresh air in his lungs, he cautiously walked out.

With Bernardo, he dug his way through the darkened scraps of carts of straw, wood, and boxes, silently glancing all around him in shock. The city was waking up like one would wake up after a night of drunkenness: confused and numb.

"What do you think about a change in atmosphere, Bernardo?" he asked as they climbed over the wreckage of a coach.

Bernardo, a half-burnt wheel in hand, turned a worried glance toward him and nodded gravely. Then, he straightened and mimed being on a horse and riding away.

His serious face snatched a chuckle to the young don, who took a deep breath before adding:

"What about sailing?"

The mute's eyes widened briefly, and he shook his head, holding his left elbow while miming paddling.

"Oh! Don't worry. I am talking about sailing on a galleon, not on a galley."

Bernardo frowned.

"I received a letter from my father yesterday before all this trouble burst. I have to go home," Diego announced. "I'd like you to come with me," he added, watching his friend with anxiety.

An anxiety that vanished when a large smile lightened Bernardo's face.


End file.
